


all the small things

by cascountsdeansfreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Again, Castiel Deserves His Damn Initial’s on the Table, Castiel Deserves to be Loved (Supernatural), M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), post 15x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27414559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascountsdeansfreckles/pseuds/cascountsdeansfreckles
Summary: He works with care, leaning forward every so often to brush the flecks of wood onto the floor for Sam to deal with later. When he finishes, the initials stare blankly back at him. C.W.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 194





	all the small things

Dean is useless without Cas around. He barely pulls himself out of bed in the morning, and it’s usually straight to the kitchen for a beer or some jack.

But the one thing he can do, the one thing he’s good for, is wielding a knife. Despite the beer and despite the hour of sleep under his belt, his hand is steady on the hilt as he begins. As badly as he wants to, he doesn’t stab it, doesn’t slam the blade into the table until he feels it give way. He rocks the dagger back and forth with care, getting the curve just right.

Dean is useless without Cas around, but this he can do. He can make sure Cas has a place at the table, even though this should’ve happened forever ago. Come to think of it, he remembers seeing Cas surveying the Winchester’s initials on the table every time they have time to sit down together. He’d never thought much of it until now.

He’d never offered Cas the dagger.

Dean finishes the C and moves onto the W without hesitation. Cas would’ve wanted that, he thinks. Besides, whether Cas wanted it or not Dean would’ve added it.

He works with care, leaning forward every so often to brush the flecks of wood onto the floor for Sam to deal with later. When he finishes, the initials stare blankly back at him. C.W. 

Almost without realizing he’s doing it, he brings his hand across his chest and covers his upper shoulder where he knows the scar rests under his shirt. Sometimes he swears he can feel it thrumming beneath his fingers, as though a little bit of Castiel is with him still.

He gives his shoulder a squeeze and releases it to run his fingers over the table. M.W. S.W. D.W. C.W.

“Right where you belong,” he mutters, tracing the letters. “Right here with us.”

His shoulder aches.


End file.
